As a little girl I played with dolls behind your back,
Until that one time you caught me and I got smacked.
You wanted me in school and make friends,
But when I did the new friendship would eventually have to end.
Criticism is what I get instead of saying "Good Job."
It feels like you slapped me across my face and it throbs.
I try to show how great I am, but you're always on the phone,
Thanks for the encouragement; it officially blows.
I'm walking towards the door with my suitcase to go,
You scream "This is home."
Walking to the door you threw my doll,
Here comes another brawl.
I wait until you eat and fall asleep,
Grabbing my suitcase, I try to figure out what I can keep.
By the door, my foot steps on the doll.
I imagine everything you said and I make it fall.
Keeping the bad memories is like having no memories at all.